You and I

Ash Wednesday, and Carnival is over for yet another year. On the one hand, I am sorry it’s all over; as exhausting and frustrating as it may often be, I do enjoy it thoroughly. This morning I feel a bit hungover from it all; the over consumption, the excitement, the crowds, the engaging with people…it’s really so much, and so hard to comprehend unless you are completely immersed in it the way we are. Today I have a long day at the office and a late night bar testing; but this is a very short work week (three days!) and before I know it the weekend will be here again. The week after Mardi Gras always feels a bit off as everyone tries to get their bearings and to grasp reality again anyway.

Which means I am going to get back in the saddle and start writing again this week! Happy March 1st!

I also managed to read Donna Andrews’ latest Meg Langslow mystery last night, Die Like an Eagle.

“Strike!”

“No fair! I wasn’t ready!”

I glanced over at the field to see what was going on. My husband, Michael, in his role as assistant coach of the Caerphilly Eagles, was putting one of his players through batting practice. Probably seven-year-old Mason. They all looked alike with their baseball hats or batting helmets pulled low over their faces, but Mason was a good friend of Josh and Jamie, our twins, and I was pretty sure I recognized the voice.

“Mason, I asked you if you were ready before I threw it,” Michael said. “You said you were ready.”

Constant Reader already should be aware that I am a huge fan of Donna Andrews, and this latest of hers is yet another joyous return for the reader to the wonderful town of Caerphilly (I pronounce it carefully and will not change my mind as to that pronunciation so don’t even try), Virginia, and the world populated by her heroine, the amazing Meg Langslow, her husband, their twin sons, their menagerie of animals, and dozens and dozens of relatives and friends. The murder mystery is constructed around the world of ‘summerball,’ an off-shoot of Little League, and of course Meg’s twin sons are playing…which brings Meg into contact with the wretched and vile Biff Brown, who runs Brown Construction Company and also has managed to install himself as league president for Summerball. No one likes Biff–and he is hard to like–and then the night before the big tournament his look-alike half-brother is found murdered in one of Brown Construction’s porta-potties, stationed at the baseball field. And since pretty much everyone hates Biff…it’s not a stretch to think his look-alike brother was killed by mistake. Entertaining and at times laugh-out-loud funny, this is Donna Andrews at her best–which is saying something.

As I read the book (savoring every word), I realized that one of the reasons I love this series is because the people Andrews populates her town with are good people; the kind you’d like to know. Meg and her mother (and pretty much anyone in town, really) can always depend on their friends and neighbors to pitch in for the good of the town and the townspeople; within minutes of making phone calls they are generally overwhelmed with volunteers and food and so forth. Everyone is basically nice; those who aren’t nice and don’t change their ways usually end up murdered.

And I kind of like that.

Her next, Gone Gull, will be released in August and is already available for pre-order; I know I’ve already ordered mine.

Freedom! 90

Well, that particular long weekend is now over, and it’s back to the office with me tonight. I’m doing bar testing tonight, so I don’t have to go in until later. So I am going to spend the next few hours writing before heading to run errands on my way to the office. This is a short week, of course–four days–and then another three day weekend and next week is also a four day work week.

I got pretty caught up on the book yesterday; still behind, of course, but if I keep pushing myself I may actually get the damned thing done on time. I don’t know why I do this to myself all the time, but I do, and it’s very tiresome.

VERY tiresome.

But I slept well last night and I do feel rested, which is a good thing, particularly since I have two late nights this week as opposed to just the one. I need to run errands on Thursday during the day, which is also going to cut into my writing time that day (I can’t do errands on Saturday as it’s our annual New Year’s luncheon at Commander’s Palace; which is also going to make writing that day a bit difficult since we generally drink at lunch), so I have to be prepared to get up and get going that day. (I’m skipping Costco this time around; it may just be a grocery run when I get up that morning and be done with it.)

I also did a purge of some books this weekend.

All right, now I am boring myself, so I am going to get cleaned up and get to work on the book.

Here’s a hunk for the day:

Harper Valley PTA

Wednesday! It’s all downhill to the weekend!

Of course, that means I’m just wishing my life away, but I really am looking forward to a normal weekend. It will make a lovely change.

I am slowly acclimating back to my normal life, now that I am out of the Festival bubble. I got some writing done yesterday on one of the short stories I am working on–I put aside one and worked on another, simply because mentally it was in the front of my mind and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I think it’s a good, interesting story, but at the same time I don’t know where I am going to sell it, and I also think the tone is wrong, but it’s flowing right along and I’m having a lovely time writing it, so there’s that. Sometimes, I think, you have to write something that is just fun to write so you can remember how much joy you actually can get out of writing. Not sure how much, if any, writing I will get done today–I am that weird combination of sleepy, my muscles are tired (thanks to Wacky Russian this morning) and yet my brain is functioning fine. I could easily go right back to sleep, I think, it’s just a weird feeling.

Someone suggested to me over the weekend that I should do a collection of my crime and horror short stories; it’s something that’s occurred to me a few times over the last year or so, but I also figured I didn’t have enough published stories for a collection, and I would have to write a bunch of new ones. But yesterday, whenever I would get stuck on the story I was working on (“Quiet Desperation”), I started listing the stories that I’ve published that would fit into this collection, and was surprised at how many I actually have (I also have some finished, unpublished ones on hand); and thought to myself, hey, this collection might be easier to pull together than I originally thought. I have thirteen horror/crime stories that have been published; four that are finished and unpublished; and three partials I would need to complete. (Although I would probably revise the finished, unpublished ones again.) So that’s actually twenty stories; if each story was five thousand words that would one hundred thousand words total, not including the introduction.

That’s a book.

And on that note, I am heading back into the spice mines.

Here’s a Hump Day Hunk for you!

Tighten Up

Ah, reality officially slapped me in the face this morning. Yesterday–while my first day back in the real world–I was still kind of in the Festival Bubble; reality didn’t seem quite real. Getting up at six this morning to come to work for a twelve hour day? Shit got real. I should have gone to bed at ten last night; instead I waited until eleven, which wasn’t the smart thing to do. I am not sleepy this morning, nor am I tired, but I am also not completely awake, either.

Heavy heaving sigh. I suppose tonight I shall have to try to go to bed early, and break this cycle once and for all.

There are, of course, worse things.

I am hoping to have a productive week, and next week I am hoping that I am going to start my increased and enhanced workouts at the gym as I attempt to get myself back into tip-top physical condition. I also intend to make a dentist appointment, get my bloodwork done, and see about getting another eye appointment; I feel like I already can’t see as well with the glasses I bought last year, which is endlessly annoying. Only this time, I think I am going to get a prescription for contact lenses–progressive ones, at that–because I can always get the prescription refilled at Costco after I exhaust my vision benefits. Work. That. System.

This week I want to edit three chapters of my secret project, write two chapters of the new Scotty, and finish two short stories–at least the first drafts. A friend of mine suggested to me this past weekend that I should put together a collection of my dark stories–crime and horror–and you know, I think I might actually have enough stories already to pull together as a collection, plus might have to write a couple of new ones. It’s a worthwhile project, methinks, to try to pull together. And I do like to write short stories, I just don’t think I’m very good at them–they certainly are harder for me (in a different way) than writing novels. The two stories I am working on are “The Terrortorium” (which was originally “Happyland”, but I really disliked that title) and “Quiet Desperation.” (Of course, the first is a rewrite and the second is an entirely new story, ergo–more fun to work on, and more difficult, but in a different way.)

I find myself writing, or at least thinking about writing, about writers more frequently these days. I’ve tried to avoid that trope (although Stephen King has written about writers a lot, and has done so extremely well) for most of my career, but I find myself going that way more and more lately. It’s something I am incredibly familiar with, for one thing, and I also know a lot of writers (not that I want to write about people I know, of course). I think the first time I wrote about a writer was in my short story “Annunciation Shotgun,” and since then I’ve kind of created a writer character who’s kind of a stand-in for me in some ways; he was the narrator of my story “An Arrow for Sebastian,” and I kind of used him again in both The Orion Mask and Garden District Gothic (Jerry Channing is his name). I find myself sometimes thinking about short stories and novels about writers, and I default to him…I even have an idea for a stand-alone novel about him. So…we shall see. Even “Quiet Desperation” is about a writer–although most definitely not Jerry.

Not sure what that’s all about, but there you have it.

And now, back to the spice mines.

Little Green Apples

well, that’s over for another year.

The combination Festival weekend (Tennessee Williams and Saints & Sinners) was, as always, a lot of fun and inspiring. It’s always lovely to see friends I don’t get to see very often (if at all), it’s always fun to talk about writing, and listening to writers and readers talking about books and stories and so forth always rejiggers my creativity (which, granted, has been working overtime lately but hasn’t had the requisite ‘park ass in chair and type’ drive that is necessary to get anything done.

I didn’t sleep well either Thursday or Friday nights, so Friday and Saturday were slogs for me. After my reading Saturday I came home, and just basically sat around the house, too tired to write or clean or even read. I went to bed early, and FINALLY slept well, so I felt rested and was raring to go on Sunday…until the closing reception was over and once again I hit a wall. So I took the streetcar home and watched Rogue One, which I’d bought on iTunes on Friday morning (release day), and then Feud, before going to bed. I slept in again, and I don’t have to be at the office until later today…I have a short day which is absolutely lovely.

It’s always lovely to go to events where you get to mix with other writers. It doesn’t happen very often–I’m luckier than most writers in that I get to do so more regularly than others–and there’s always that, I don’t know, sense of BELONGING you get when you’re around other writers, that is so terrific to feel.

I also bought some new books this weekend: a new copy of A Confederacy of Dunces, due for a reread; Kristen-Paige Madonia’s Fingerprints of You (we were on the y/a panel together–the second time, and I had meant to get her first book the first time and remembered to get it this time); All Over But The Shoutin’ by Rick Bragg (whom I’ve never read): and Long Shot, by Tyler Bridges and Jeremy Alford, about the Louisiana gubernatorial election in which Senator David Vitter, the overwhelming favorite, was defeated by a relatively unknown state representative. (I had kind of wanted to write a book about the rise and fall of both Vitter and former governor Bobby Jindal, titled Implosion…but I am not a journalist nor do I know enough about Louisiana politics….so I am glad someone wrote a book about Vitter’s fall.)

So, this morning and this evening I am going to try to wade through my emails and get caught up on that and everything that went on in the world while I was safely inside my Festival Bubble. I also have some writing to do this week!

So, to launch the new week, here’s a hunk for you, Constant Reader:

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

I worked late last night, and despite being tired, I wasn’t able to sleep until much later than I’d have liked, and as such I overslept this morning. Which, of course, has now thoroughly screwed up my sleep schedule. This is frustrating, because I’d reset my body clock to go to bed early and wake up early; this was in preparation to start going to the gym in the mornings before work starting next week.

Well, I suppose it’s okay; this weekend was going to screw it up anyway.

I have some errands to do today before heading down to the Quarter; some neatening and straightening of the Lost Apartment (the work being done on the upstairs is finally finished, so things can be put back the way they are supposed to be). I also am going to the Riverwalk Outlet mall to buy a new outfit for tonight’s parties (a little treat to myself), but I don’t feel awake and energetic the way I did when I was waking up early this week. Very annoying.

But last night I did start writing my story “Quiet Desperation” in my head, which is a good thing. It’s a great idea, and now having the right tone for it…well, that’s just perfect, you know? Finding the right voice for a story is everything. (I think I actually got the voice for “The Terrortorium” right yesterday, as well. Whew. Such a relief.)

I also have to got to Costco at some point; maybe Sunday morning, maybe Monday before work. We shall see.

All right I need to get a move on, take my vitamins, eat some breakfast, get cleaned up, pack some shit for the weekend. I doubt I’ll be checking in much over the weekend, everyone, so if not…see you on the other side.

Here’s a pair of hunks to slip you into the weekend.

This Guy’s In Love with You

Another lovely night of sleep. I’m not sure what has shifted in my body chemistry that’s enabling me to sleep so deeply and get so much rest, but it’s pretty wonderful and I am pretty certain I don’t care what is going on, to be honest. It’s lovely to wake up in the morning and feel rested and awake. Huzzah! Today is a late night–testing at the Corner Pocket–and I have tomorrow off. I was going to run some errands today, but in remembering that I have tomorrow off I can just do them tomorrow. Instead, I can hopefully wrap up my to-do list for the week today. Huzzah!

Always a good thing. It feels nice to get things done, you know?

I started writing a short story yesterday instead of finishing the one I am trying to finish–isn’t that always the way–and it has occurred to me this morning, as sunlight streams through the windows (which are filthy; I may need to clean them today), that I need to reign in my creative ADD. (I was just looking at an old to-do list, and saw a note to work on a short story called “In Lieu of Flowers.” I have no recollection of any short story called that, or even an idea that would fit that title. It is a great title, though…and this, Constant Reader, is a classic example of how this happens.)

But I am feeling like I can get everything back under control again. It’s amazing what sleep can do, isn’t it?

All right, I’d best get back to it.

Here’s today’s hunk:

Sunshine of Your Love

Wednesday! The week is almost half over!

Well, more than half for me, since I am taking Friday off. I dropped Paul off at the Monteleone this morning–it’s not like him not being home is going to be different, I’ve barely seen him these last few weeks anyway–on my way into the office and am still riding a bit high on the endorphins triggered by my workout with Wacky Russian this morning. I slept really well last night–I even went to bed at nine thirty (!) because I didn’t feel so well…and woke up only twice throughout the night before going back to bed. It was kind of awesome, actually; I’ve been sleeping so well this week that I hope this continues. After the TWFest/S&S weekend, I am going to commit to continue to eat healthy (I’ve lost nine pounds so far since Carnival) and make it to the gym a few more times a week. It just means going to be earlier and getting up earlier. Without Paul being home at night this week I’ve been able to get to bed early; once this is all over again I am going to commit to working out more frequently as well as continuing to eat healthier with a goal of being between 190-200 pounds by Labor Day weekend. As I am now at 216 or so, I should think I would be able to do this with a concerted effort over the summer.

It can be done. It can. And it will. It must.

Of course, this means none of my clothes will fit, but hey. There are worse things. And my pants are already too big from the weight loss I’ve managed so far.

I also need to take advantage of the massage gift certificate Paul gave me for Christmas.

The writing hasn’t been going that well this week, at least not so far. I got some disappointing news yesterday about a project I was very excited about, but these things happen. You can’t take them personally, but when you’re already having a bad writing week having something fall through due to no fault of your own–and frankly, I do think there was some shady shit going on there–it can create a spiral. I feel better today about things, frankly, and ready to get some work done. I am going to do some editing and maybe some brainstorming with the Scotty book–it needs some more thought before I can really get it going–and work on that pesky other short story. I may even edit one of my others and submit it somewhere. Why the fuck not?

And on that note, I am going to get back to the spice mines.

Here’s a Hump Day hunk for you, CR.

People Got to Be Free

Tuesday. I managed to get a shit ton of stuff done yesterday; well over half of my to-do list, which was quite a triumph. I’m not sure what that was all about, frankly, but I am sure it had something to do with going to bed early. I did the same last night; much earlier than I usually do, and am feeling pretty well rested this morning as well.

Note to self: going to bed early on nights when you have to get up early the next morning is the smart thing to do, dumbass. Make a habit of it.

Paul checks into the hotel tomorrow for the weekend. It’s not like I’ve seen much of him lately, anyway. He gets home after I go to bed, so if I’m lucky we have a bit of conversation in the morning on my way out the door. I’ll be glad when this is all over and we can get back to some semblance of normality, again. I kind of feel like I’ve been living alone for the last few weeks. Heavy heaving sigh. I’ve been watching a lot of old episodes of Dark Shadows lately, which is entertaining on many levels, but primarily for making me realize how deep an influence the old show had on me–how many books have I written that open with someone arriving someplace they’ve never been before? Let’s see….Lake Thirteen, Sorceress, Dark Tide, The Orion Mask…and even Timothy, kind of.

Granted, many novels open that way…but in my subconscious I always hear the mournful sound of the train whistle, the light on the front of the train, and the voice…”My name is Victoria Winters.”

It reminds me that long, long ago, I wanted to write about supernatural occurrences in a small town, perhaps even write a series, beginning with a book called I, Vampire. There’s a small town in Louisiana, just above Baton Rouge on the other side of the river, but before Lafayette, that is sort of what I had in mind when I first had that idea way back in the early 90’s; I had driven from Houston to Tampa with a friend and we detoured off I-10 in Louisiana to go along the River Road…I’ve actually used the fictional town in a couple of books already (Murder in the Arts District, The Orion Mask) and may go back and use it again. Need was also supposed to be the first in a supernatural series, which I’d intended to tie in to that town as well.

Maybe I’ll get back to that sometime.

I also have to stop myself from using the name “Collins” on a regular basis in my work. I would love to call a character Barnabas, too.

All right, time to get back to the spice mines. Here’s Tuesday’s hunk.

Love is Blue

Monday morning. I didn’t want to get up this morning, and in fact, hit snooze repeatedly for over an hour before finally dragging my sorry, lazy ass out of bed shortly after eight. But I do feel rested, which is a dramatic improvement over how I felt last Monday when I started out the week already tired. Which is fortunate, because this weekend is TWFest/Saints and Sinners. Paul will be abandoning me on Wednesday to check into the hotel, and I don’t have to go till late on Thursday. I took Friday off as well, and am coming in late on Monday as well. So, I trust I can survive the weekend in one piece and without being completely exhausted by the time I return to work on Monday. We shall see, I suppose.

The weekend wasn’t as productive as I would have liked–then again, when is it ever–but it did accomplish its primary purpose: getting rested for the new work week. I read some more of The Underground Railroad, which is slow going. Partly because the subject matter is so intense, partly because it’s written so simply yet beautifully I want to savor the experience, and I am constantly having to put the book aside to think. The best books always make me think. It really is quite extraordinary, but not a quick or easy read.

So, I made my weekly to-do list this morning, and am proud to say that I only had to transfer half of last week’s list to this week’s; which is always a good thing. I really need to get back into the habit of making the weekly to-do list. I don’t know when or why I stopped in the first place, because there is ever-so-much satisfaction in crossing things off the list; even when you don’t finish everything on it, you know? It felt really good this morning crossing off the things I got done last week, and even in adding the uncompleted tasks to this week’s list was, rather than ‘oh, you lazy bastard’, more of a ‘oh, this will be easy to get done.’ We’ll see how it goes, of course, but at least making the list this morning wasn’t daunting and didn’t make me feel even more tired, the way it did last week.

Last Monday, as I worked on my story “Happyland” for a submission deadline the very next day, I suddenly realized the reason–despite several rewrites already–the story kept getting rejected every time I submitted it anywhere was because the way the story was structured it simply didn’t work–and I hadn’t even gotten to the scary part yet. I realized that the entire story needed to be overhauled; I had developed a bad case of the ‘lazy edits.’ This happens to me from time to time; an attempt to make small tweaks to a story that doesn’t work rather than starting over again from scratch while retaining the best bits. “Happyland”, as originally envisioned and written, simply doesn’t work. It’s nothing new, it’s nothing original, it’s nothing fresh, it has nothing clever to say for itself. It’s based on something that happened to me as a kid–one summer when my immediate family, along with aunts, uncles and cousins on my father’s side–were staying for a week at a beach house in Panama City Beach, Florida, only about three blocks from the water. There used to be an amusement park, the Miracle Strip, that we used to go to every time we stayed at the beach, and one time I got stuck with my youngest cousin who wanted to ride the haunted house ride and was also too small to ride the rollercoaster–so every time we rode the coaster someone had to stay off and mind him. I was annoyed and angry, it was hot and humid, and the haunted house ride–which was, even to my eleven year old mind, lame–this time it was actually intense and scary. There was something different about the interior that time; and I’ve had nightmares about it ever since. That was why I wrote the story in the first place; to dislodge it from my subconscious as well as to follow Stephen King’s admonition to ‘write about what scares you.’ But the story as I wrote it doesn’t work, and on Tuesday I started, slowly but surely, to rebuild the story from the very first line. It may not work this time, either–but I want to get it done this time.

That way it’s ready the next time a call I want to submit to comes around.

The new Scotty isn’t going as well as it should be either; again because I was trying to make it easy on myself rather than recognizing that the framework can stay but the story is new and different. Ugh, such an idiot, really. But every once in a while lightning strikes and I wake up.

Heavy heaving sigh. And I got started on my taxes!

And now back to the spice mines.